The First Cut Is The Deepest
by lycanus1
Summary: "It's over, Tristan. Deal with it - I have to ... We're through ..." or, "The one where Tristan screws up - badly ..." WARNING: rated due to strong language.
1. The Demon Drink and the Road to Ruin

_**Summary:**_The one where Tristan screws up ... badly.  
_**Warnings:**_ contains slash, strong language and mentions a suicide attempt.  
_**Comments and Reviews:**_ positive comments welcomed.

_**Disclaimer: **_The KA lads _never_ were mine, _still_ aren't mine and _never_ will be. Everything you recognize, belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures - godsdamnit ! No copyright infringement is intended.

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**The First Cut Is The Deepest ...**

**Part I: **_**The Demon Drink and the Road to Ruin ...**_

_Tristan's pov__:_

I never saw the blow coming, but I sure as hell felt it ...

In the fifteen years I've known him, he'd _never_ struck any of us, although there were times when his patience had been severely tried and he must have been sorely tempted.

Dazed, I shook my head slowly. I was staggered to find myself still standing and not lying flat on my back on the grimy tavern floor. Raising my right hand, I gingerly rubbed it against my lower lip and was shocked to see a crimson smear on my skin. I tentatively ran the tip of my tongue across my lip and immediately tasted the metallic tang of blood. Despite it all, I realized that he'd held back - a lot. Otherwise, that hard, lethal blow would certainly have felled and probably killed me. It would have been no less than I deserved, after I'd humiliated and betrayed him so publicly ...

Warily and by now deeply regretting the amount of ale I'd consumed, I unsteadily approached him and lightly rested a hand on his right forearm. It pained me that he flinched at my touch, before brusquely shrugging my hand away and that he'd also averted his head so that he wouldn't have to face me.

"Dag ? My wolf ... I'm sor- "

As soon as he heard my voice, he reluctantly raised his head to look at me and I was dismayed by what I saw. Shock had drained his handsome face of all colour. And his eyes ? Seeing Dagonet's gentle, intelligent, beautiful silver-grey eyes, which had always viewed me with such warmth and passion, now unwillingly meet mine was heartbreaking. They were full of disbelief, pain, anger and deep sorrow. That I alone was the cause of his anguish and distress, well ... the guilt stabbed me as surely as a dagger through the heart ...

"Dag, wai- "

Icy silver eyes skewered me to the spot.

"_Don't,_ Tristan ... I don't want to hear your bullshit ... Just keep the hell away from me."

To my utter dismay, any trace of warmth had left Dagonet's calm voice. All that remained was cold, bitter, monotonous reserve as he growled his reply. His soft-spoken words cut to the quick, wounding me far more that any shouting ever could.

"I can't be around you, Tristan. If I'm honest, I don't _want _to be near you right now. Just stay the fuck away from me and go back to _him_ ... Never understood why you were with me in the first place ..."

I couldn't help noticing how his broad shoulders slumped dejectedly as he turned on his heel and hating to see him leave, I began to follow him. He must have sensed or heard my approach, because the words he spoke before he left, floored me with their finality and determination.

"It's over, Tristan. Deal with it -_ I _have to ... We're through ..."

_**XXXXX**_

Frozen, I stood there as he stalked away. I was only too aware of the coiled tension in my lover's impressive physique, of the acute pain and misery deeply etched into my beloved Dagonet's handsome profile. It shamed me greatly that I was the cause of it all ... I regretted hurting him more than anything, for Dag means the world to me ... He's my world and I love him dearly. Throughout my life, I've never felt so passionately about anyone else the way I do about him.

To me, Dag's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. He's an imposing looking man. Tall - well over six foot - and I feel dwarfed by him, yet I am not lacking in height. Broad-shouldered, strappingly-built and strong, he carries no excess weight and moves with the silent, lithe grace of a wolf. To most people, he appears very intimidating with his shaven head, stubble and tattooed, muscular arms and the long, savage looking scar that runs from his left temple down the side of his face doesn't help matters either.

But when it comes to my Dag, appearances truly can be deceptive. His is an inner beauty which truly shines. It illuminates my world and lightens my dark spirit and black heart. For he's the most kind-hearted and gentle soul that you could wish to meet. He's also courageous, loyal to a fault and is the most selfless and giving person I've the honour to know. Those are the reasons why I can't understand what I did and why I'm unable to forgive myself for my actions.

I was aware that I'd truly fucked up. I'd committed the mother-of-all-fuck-ups and I'd no idea how to make amends. How I'd ever be able to make things right between us ... and I feared that I'd lost both Dag's love and trust for good ... That he'd never forgive me. All I knew was - even though I was as pissed as a newt - that I would fight for what we have. I'd fight for Dagonet, even if it killed me, for he's my soulmate and I couldn't and wouldn't lose him ...

As I made to follow him, my path was immediately blocked by a large, unmovable object. With my gaze firmly fixed upon my quarry who, to my acute dismay, was swiftly fleeing from the tavern with a large goatskin full of ale, I tried to slip around the obstruction. Only to find myself shoved roughly backwards.

_**XXXXX**_

I hissed in pure frustration and moved forwards only to find Gawain standing in front of me, his hand resting on my chest, holding me back. For once, my friend's good-humoured, attractive face was stern - no, he appeared absolutely furious - and his bright blue eyes were hard and unforgiving as he shook his head slowly as a warning.

"I wouldn't, if I were you, Scout," he softly growled, his words dripping with disgust. "Leave Dag be ... He needs to be on his own right no- "

"If you don't want any trouble between us, Halani," I snarled, glaring angrily at the well-built, shaggy-maned blond, "I suggest that you mov- " My hand immediately went to the hilt of the dagger at my waist. Gawain merely ignored my words and sharply prodded my chest before pushing me back once more.

"I said _leave_ it ! How _could_ you, Tris ? How the hell could you do something like that to him, huh ? Dagonet didn't fucking deserve that. He loves you, _only_ you ... You're his world, you stupid, fucking bastard ! The man worships the ground you walk on, for mercy's sake. He'd never dream of betraying you like that ... Dag would kill himself first rather than hurt you."

There was only truth in Gawain's words and I knew it. My hand fell limply away from the dagger's hilt and I struggled to find the words I wanted to say. It didn't matter though, as the tall Halani was now in full flow and wouldn't let me get a word in edgeways. I was about to speak and immediately fell silent beneath his withering glare.

"Just shut the fuck up and listen, Tristan. What you did was out of order. You're a lot of things, but I never thought being a damn fool was one of them ... Hell ! You and Dag are my friends, my brothers ... Don't force me to take sides on this ..." Gawain wearily shook his head in disappointment and added sadly, "I honestly don't understand why you did it, Tris ... How could you ? And with _him_ of all people ? Why did you betray someone who genuinely adores and trusts you with that selfish, immoral, troublemaking, little shit, Lancelot ? He doesn't care about anyone other than himself. And here, of all places ? You stupid or what ?" Gawain ran a tired hand through his wild, fair hair, then asked softly, "Just tell me why, Tris ?"

Sighing heavily, I looked at him through my messy, dark hair and shrugged my shoulders helplessly before replying huskily, "I swear, Gawain, I honestly don't know ... I was drunk and I realize that doesn't excuse what I did. Upon my life, I never meant to hurt him - I'd sooner die ..." Briefly, I looked away and chewed my lower lip uneasily, then continued quietly, "I admit I was curious to know what kissing Lancelot would be like ... But on my oath as a knight - as an Aorsi -_ he _was the one who kissed me. I never kissed him. I felt nothing. It left me cold because it wasn't Dag, Gawain ... it_ wasn't _Dag ..."

It was only when I realized what I'd just said that I was able to steadily meet my friend's gaze. Every single word had been true ... I'd lost the one person who'd meant everything to me just because of a stupid, drunken, meaningless kiss ... because of idle curiosity.

"So, what are you going to do about it ?" Gawain asked gruffly, his gaze now slightly warmer yet full of concern. "If you hurt Dag aga- "

"By all that's sacred, Gawain, that's the last thing I intend to happen. I want him back. I need him. For the love of gods, I love the man ... I'm_ in _love with him. I have to win him back - for both our sakes. So, unless you want any bad blood between us, friend, you'll move out of my way ..."

Moving aside, Gawain eyed me warily, then sighed deeply before bluntly stating, "Well, if I were you, I'd sort this damn mess out_ before _Bors gets wind of it. If he does ..." the tall blond ran the tip of his index finger slowly and meaningfully across his throat, from the left side to the right. "He's going to bloody kill you, boy ... You'll end up wearing your entrails as a scarf if you're not careful ..."

That was a low yet accurate blow. I was fortunate that the older Roxolani was safely ensconsed with his family, otherwise I was a dead man. Bors was formidable when roused. He loved his shy, young cousin dearly and was extremely protective of him. The last thing I wanted was to draw his attention to my indiscretion - that would be suicide ...

Then again, I didn't see much point of having a life without Dagonet either. No matter how I looked at the situation, the outcome wasn't favourable. I would lose and losing was something I did not do and wouldn't tolerate. It was a sobering thought and enough to goad me into action. Squaring my shoulders, I raised my chin determinedly and met Gawain's thoughtful, unwavering gaze without flinching. I'd made up my mind.

"Oi ! Wher- ?" Gawain began as I brushed past him. I only had one thought on my mind and nothing - nobody - was going to distract me from it.

"Me ? I'm going to do what I should've done earlier," I replied huskily, narrowing my eyes with predatory intent. "I'm going to find Dag before he goes to ground and win him back. Damn it ! I'm going to prove to him how much he means to me and that I love him, even if it fucking kills me ..."

And with that final remark, I left a bemused Gawain to track down my missing, devastated lover.

**TBC...**


	2. The Demon Drink and the River of Pain

_**Disclaimer:**_ See Chapter I.

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**Part II:** _**The Demon Drink and the River of Pain ...**_

_Dagonet's pov__: _

Once I'd reached my destination, I lethargically dismounted then tethered my horse close to the stream, before removing the large, ornate saddle and my bedroll and setting up camp for the night.

I'm aware that what I did was both cowardly and weak, but considering I'd witnessed my own public, humiliating betrayal by my lover, clear, logical thought was the last thing on my mind. I did what any grievously injured animal would do. I immediately bolted and went to ground to lick my wounds.

I knew it was wrong of me to leave the garrison without permission from my commanding officer and that I'd be severely reprimanded and punished on my return. But I was past caring. I cared not that I'd probably be subjected to a flogging for deserting my post and be confined to solitary for a month. All I wanted was to be left alone ... to try and deal with the shame and overwhelming pain of a heart that was breaking into a million pieces ...

Fleeing was the coward's way out and I'd_ never _run away from anything in my life. I'd _always_ stood and faced any problem head on. But this time was different. It was personal ... There was no way I could stay at the fort. I wouldn't be able to hide and find sanctuary there, for my lover_ would _hunt me down and find me. And I didn't want to be found. For him to witness the anguish that was consuming me and the cold, bitter rage I felt towards him. And he_ would _find me - of that I had no doubt. Being Arthur's most skilled scout, Tristan is an exceptional tracker and once he's on the trail of his quarry it's impossible for his prey to elude him.

So that's why I found myself camped out in a tranquil forest glade, on a warm, late summer's evening with only my destrier and a large skin of ale along with misery and pain for company.

Suddenly overcome by weariness and loneliness, I ran a trembling hand across Flight's sleek, ebony withers for some kind of solace. Over the years, a very strong bond and mutual trust had developed between us. One which had intensified as we grew older. Sensing my increasingly distressed state of mind, the powerfully built Andalusian stallion gently and repeatedly butted its handsome head against my chest and I responded half-heartedly by rubbing the white star between its dark, intelligent eyes.

Sighing heavily, I moved away and slowly returned to where I'd left the saddle and the bedroll and dragged them beneath the canopy of the closest oak tree. As I did so, my attention was immediately drawn to the goatskin which hung from the saddle. I reached for the skin, before shrugging off my leather surcoat and tossing it along with my heavy duty leather and steel vambraces on top of the bedroll. Listlessly, I wandered over to the oak and slumped against its trunk, vaguely aware of the hard bark surface through the thin cloth of my rust-coloured tunic.

With an unsteady hand I removed the cork and raised the skin to my lips, intent on drinking myself into oblivion. At first, I almost choked on the ale's potency and found the aroma of barley and hops increasingly tempting. As soon as I'd swallowed the first mouthful, I knew I'd made a mistake. I rarely drank alone, for when I'm well into my cups I become an irritable, maudlin drunk. But as I was already suffering from acute pain and melancholy, I truly believed the ale wouldn't make much difference ...

_I was wrong. _

For once, oblivion was intent on avoiding me. The more I drank, the harder it was to escape from what I'd witnessed earlier. It all appeared starker ... more vivid. And the agonizing pain I'd felt greatly intensified. Even now, I couldn't escape what I'd seen. My lover. In the arms of another man ... And they were kissing. Passionately ...

It had been no ordinary man either. Oh no, if it had been someone - hell ! anyone - else, it would've been easier to take. But no, my Tristan had been in the embrace of the one person I secretly despised. The garrison's whore - Lancelot. That arrogant, over-confident, darkly handsome bastard. The one who believed himself to be irresistible to man, woman or beast and sadly, it seemed my Scout hadn't been the exception to the rule. Yes, I was bitter. I was angry - no, I was bloody pissed and I was also jealous. Jealous, because Lancelot could have anyone he desired and he wanted the only thing I had ...The one I treasured and loved more than life itself - Tristan ...

I never thought I was capable of feeling so much anguish, so much pain. But the agonizing sorrow I felt proved me wrong. My bleeding heart knew I couldn't compete against Lancelot and deep down in my soul, I was aware of my heart breaking. With a low groan, I sank to the ground; my breath hitched sharply as I did so and I continued to drink.

By now, my chest felt constricted and my heart seemed as if it were being crushed by a vice and I couldn't prevent the silent tears that fell. I managed to cork the skin before it slipped through my numbed fingers, then raised my knees and wrapped my arms around them. My large frame shuddered uncontrollably as I bowed my head to rest upon my forearms.

For how long I remained that way, I've no idea ... What I did know - when I was finally able to lift my scarred, tear-stained face and having sluggishly rolled up my tunic sleeves - was that all rational thought had gone by the time I slowly unsheathed my hunting knife.

I raised it and gazed dully at the extremely sharp blade. It shone faintly in the fading light. Then, mesmerized and full of curiosity, I idly drew the blade experimentally across my left forearm ...

I vaguely recalled hearing once that some tribes believed bloodletting could alleviate all pain. Whether the tale was true was a moot point. But the loss of pain was something I desperately wanted. I yearned for it. I didn't wish to feel like this. To have failed so badly. That_ I _hadn't been enough for him. To hurt so badly that death would feel like a blessed, welcome relief.

At first, the cuts were shallow and tentative. They didn't bleed. My confidence in the blade gradually increased and its strokes became surer ... deeper ... It sliced through skin and sinew effortlessly and I became riveted by the increasing number of scarlet lines that flowed steadily and coldly down my arms.

I knew from past experience how knife wounds felt like; the sensation of being skewered in the gut by a sword blade or being impaled by an arrow. No matter how cold the steel blade or arrowhead feels, once it pierces the flesh it burns like a raging fire that cannot be quenched. The pain is intense and takes your breath away.

But now, thanks to the ale I'd consumed, I felt nothing physically ... I only felt numb and extremely lightheaded. Not only that, my vision was cloudy and impaired. I felt myself grow weaker and could no longer wield control over the bone-handled knife. It slid deeper - much deeper than I intended - into my willing flesh and must have punctured a vein, for after that the blade slipped from my hand and I fell into darkness' comforting embrace ...

**TBC ...**


	3. The Demon Drink and the brief lunacy

_**Disclaimer:**_ See Chapter I

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**Part III: **_**The Demon Drink and the brief lunacy of friends ...**_

_Gawain's pov__:_

I never thought I'd see the day that I would've willingly hit one of my fellow knights with my axe - but after what I'd just witnessed, my hand was just itching to grasp that particular weapon and hurl it towards the man in question. Various emotions conflicted deep within me. The main three vying for supremacy were overwhelming sorrow, bitter disappointment and increasing anger.

The cause of it all ? Seeing one of my best friends' world suddenly and cruelly fall apart and come crashing down around him. The awful thing about it was that there was nothing I could've done to prevent it. And I hated seeing the sheer disbelief, confusion and absolute pain on Dagonet's face when he saw his lover in the arms of another man.

I could scarcely believe it, even though Galahad had warned us of his suspicions earlier that evening. In hindsight, maybe we should've given the Pup more credit and taken him seriously for once. If only - huh, _'if only ...'_ those must be the saddest two words people ever say - if only we'd bloody listened to him ... Maybe then we would've been able to avoid this whole damn, sorry mess and spared Dagonet so much anguish ...

**FLASHBACK:**

Bors, Dagonet and I were finally on our way back to the fort, having been on a reconnaissance mission for Arthur. The three of us had been away for a week, spying and gathering information on the newly-arrived Saxon invaders. Less than half a mile from the fort, we were cold, wet, miserable and frankly, just relieved to be getting home. We were also, if I'm honest, bloody knackered ...

"Never thought I'd be so glad to get back to this shithole," Bors grumbled loudly. "I'm getting too old for this crap ... This wet weather's playing merry hell with my bloody joints."

I glanced at Dag. He rolled his eyes and shook his head in silent amusement as his older cousin continued to moan about everything and anything. I couldn't help grinning as the tall knight struggled to keep a straight face. We both knew he was fighting a losing battle. Bors' incessant whining had become a ritual on our return journeys and Dag and I were now able to silently mouth his every complaint, word for word, as he uttered them.

"Give it a rest," Dag said mildly as he leaned forward in the saddle to reassuringly stroke Flight's sable neck. "Just let it go, Bors ... You'll be back with Van and the little ones before you know it. Your aching joints will be the last thing on your mind as soon as you clap eyes on her ..."

As soon as Vanora's name was mentioned, a change came over the stocky, vociferous Roxolani. He immediately stopped moaning and a huge grin broke across his good-natured face as he thought of the mother of his unruly brood of offspring. And well he might smile, for the tiny, fiery, pretty redhead was the love of his life. She ruled him with a rod of iron and other than Dagonet, she was the only person able to control him. To be fair though, despite all of their fighting and continuous bickering, Vanora clearly adored Bors. She loved him passionately, was extremely loyal to him and never looked at other men. She also worried desperately about his safety when he was away from the fort. The three of us also knew that as soon as we entered the compound, that Bors would be whisked away from us and we would be lucky to see even a glimpse of him over the next few days.

I shook my head, no wonder Bors was always so eager to get home. He had a worthwhile reason for wanting to be there ...

"You're only jealous," Bors announced smugly, "neither of you have anyone half as lovely as my Van to come home to. I can just imagine the welcome I'll get - be even worth my joints playing up !" A glazed expression appeared on his face for a moment, and I coughed loudly to distract him from his thoughts. You didn't have to be a mindreader to know what he was thinking. When it came to Bors and his feelings for his better half, his face was an open book. He shook himself out of his reverie and grinned sheepishly at us.

"Well, it's true," he mumbled. "After all, Gawain, you've got Galahad moping quite happily after you. And Dag ? Oh, gods ... All I can say is that you must've been daft to have even considered, never mind taking, that mad Aorsi bastard for a lover. Out of everyone you could have chosen ... you _chose_ Tristan ?"

"You can't help who you fall in love with, Bors," Dagonet replied huskily as he steadily gazed at his kinsman. "Even Van would tell you that ... And Tristan ? I know some of you don't understand why we're together - even I don't at times - but he truly cares for me and makes me happy. That's all I could ever hope for ..."

I could only agree with him. Everything he'd said was true. Love wasn't something to be controlled. Something you could dictate ... And Dagonet had been wise enough to see that and accept it.

For fifteen years the shy Healer and the enigmatic Scout had been the closest and best of friends. What the rest of us hadn't known was that Dagonet had been quietly and faithfully carrying a torch for the handsome, mercurial Aorsi for eleven of those years.

"He's all I've ever wanted, Bors ... I _still_ can't believe he chose to be with me. That I got to be so lucky ..." Bors and I exchanged grins as Dagonet slowly shook his head in awe before giving us both a shy, genuine smile which lit up his handsome face. Being in love clearly suited him.

"Yeah , well," Bors mumbled, looking extremely self-conscious for once, "looks like love's made fools of us all, doesn't it ?"

"Oh, I don't know," I replied thoughtfully, carefully drawing the hood of my dark, woollen cloak forward in a vain attempt to stop my already damp hair from becoming even wetter. If there was one thing about this godsforsaken country I wouldn't miss, it would be all of this bloody rain. "If being loved and being in love makes you happy, then I'm perfectly willing to be a damn fool ..."

For once my reply left Bors speechless, then he began to chuckle softly in amusement. "Well, I won't argue with you there, Gawain. For I must be the biggest fool amongst us !"

"_Finally !_" Dag said with a teasing grin. "You've admitted what we've all thought about you for years, Bors. Took you long enough ..."

"What ?" I asked innocently, deciding to join in with Dagonet's gentle baiting. "Admit that he's in love or that he's a fool ?"

"Humph ! Ha-bloody-ha, Gawain !" Bors retorted sarcastically.

By now the fort was in sight. Its huge wooden gates already open and in the shade of the wall I could make out a solitary, mounted figure waiting patiently for us. I recognized him instantly. It was Galahad, our brother knight. My kinsman, best friend and beloved shieldmate.

"Seems some of us get a welcoming party, Dag," Bors indicated the gate with a slight tilt of his head. "Aah, that's _so_ sweet ..."

"Bors ..." I sighed wearily as I shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, so I could draw the damp cloak even closer around my torso. I really loathed this cold, wet, climate and longed for a hot bath and to change into clean, dry and, above all, warm clothes.

"Huh ?"

I sat forward in the saddle and glared at him. "Just shut it, will you ? Before I hit you with m- "

"Your axe. I know !" he interrupted with an infuriating grin as he watched Galahad's grey mare canter steadily towards us. "The Pup must've missed you, Gawain, to risk getting his knees wet !"

I slowly shook my head in amusement. Galahad's choice of attire - his leather kilt - was a constant source of mirth amongst us and he was regularly teased because of it, much to his annoyance.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Dagonet quietly warned his cousin, "leave our little brother alone, Bors. You shouldn't bai- " He abruptly broke off what he'd been about to say as Galahad joined us and smiled gently at him.

It was good to see Gal again. Even though I'd only been away for a week, I found I'd missed his easy companionship, his sweet, trusting nature and impetuous streak. Hell ! I'd even missed his fiery, volatile temper ...

He gently reined the mare in beside my grey gelding and laughing softly, reached across to embrace me. As we reluctantly drew apart, I heard him whisper, "'Tis good to see you back safely, my brother - I've missed you ..."

He ran the back of his forefinger lightly down my cheek and as he did so, I heard an exaggerated groan beside us.

"Oh, gods ... Can't the pair of you at least wait 'til you reach your quarters before you start groping each other ?" Bors rolled his eyes dramatically. Despite the gruffness of his voice, I was able to detect a gentle teasing in its tone and I grinned bashfully.

"That's rich, coming from a man who will have his tongue halfway down his lover's throat before she even gets the chance to give him an earful !" I replied mildly and was quietly amused to see him sheepishly meet my gaze.

"Pup ..." he warmly acknowledged Galahad with a slight dip of his bald head.

Galahad grinned at him and replied huskily, "Bors ... Glad to see you in one piece, for once ..."

Bors chuckled softly at the remark. He rarely returned home without some type of injury or wound. This mission had proved to be the exception to the rule.

"'Tis good to be back, little one."

Although, Galahad had been genuinely pleased to see us, I immediately sensed that he had something preying on his mind. For when he greeted Dagonet, his smile was warm, yet his soft, dark brown eyes were concerned and held a tinge of sorrow.

"Dag, my brother ... I'm happy you're back safe and well. You were missed - deeply ..."

Dagonet returned his smile, his silvery-grey eyes had softened as he looked fondly at my friend, yet his brow was lightly furrowed in bewilderment.

"I missed you too, Gal," he replied huskily. "We all did - _some_ more than others." His gaze flickered briefly towards me before returning to my kinsman. "Now, tell me little brother, you seem distracted, what's worrying you ? Is it Tristan ? He's not hurt, I trust ? Or in trouble ?"

Now if there's one thing I've learnt about Dag over the years, it's that he's no fool. It's virtually impossible to hide anything from him and he's able to detect a lie a mile off. It's utterly pointless to do so, as he possesses an uncanny gift of knowing if and when he's being deceived. As he tends to mostly see the good in people - which Bors to his dismay classes as naivety - he abhors deceit. For once Dag's trust is lost, it's usually gone for good ...

"Uh, no ... Nothing like that, I swear, Dag. Tristan's well. It's ..." Galahad sighed, his dark brows knitted in anxiety.

"Aye ?" Dagonet prompted gently, resting a tanned hand on a muscular, brown leather-clad thigh, his expression mildly curious.

"It's ... Oh, gods ! I didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. It's bloody Lancelot !"

"What about him ?"

"He's up to no good, Dag. I just know he is. I can feel it ! Lancelot's taken a fancy to Tristan. And the way he's been sniffing around your Scout like a dog this past week ... ? He's intent on having him, Dag."

To our surprize, Dagonet merely grinned. "You're fretting over nothing, my brother. Tris is no fool, of that I've no doubt. I've faith in him. Believe me, nothing will come of Lancelot's pursuit, except maybe a serious wound to his ego ..."

_**XXXXX**_

An hour later both Galahad and myself saw Dag's world shatter completely.

Bors, thank gods (or more precisely, Vanora and their 'little bastards') had been stolen away from us as soon as he'd dismounted his coal-black destrier, Ignis. Before Jols even had a chance to lead the mighty beast into the stable, Bors was firmly in the loving clutches of his family and out of sight. In hindsight, it was a blessing, for if our prize-fighter had witnessed what we'd seen ... Well, let's just say that Arthur would only have four Sarmatian knights remaining.

After visiting the baths, the three of us had gone straight to the tavern for a hearty meal and some much needed ale. Gal and I were sat at our table, talking and catching up with the news of the past few days as we waited for Dagonet to return with a much needed ewer of ale.

Ever since we'd got back, our Healer had been keeping watch for his lover to come and find him. We knew Tristan hadn't been sent on patrol as Storm, his fleet-footed, dapple-grey mare was tethered and grazing peacefully in the stall next to Flight's. Minutes passed and with no sighting of our Scout, the hope and longing which had blazed fiercely in Dagonet's silver eyes began to flicker and wane then slowly disappeared, leaving nothing but hurt and confusion which he quickly hid.

"Where the bloody hell is he ?" I hissed, fuming on Dagonet's behalf. "Surely he must know we're back by now ?"

Galahad shrugged his shoulders helplessly and I couldn't help noting his anxiety. Suddenly, we were distracted by the sound of earthenware shattering loudly on the hard tavern floor. We both looked up and saw Dagonet frozen to the spot, looking deathly pale as if he'd seen an inish or spirit. His eyes were fixed incredulously to a corner of the tavern and we slowly followed his gaze.

"_Shit !_ The bloody bastard ..." Galahad snarled, rising swiftly to his feet. "Now do you believe me ? I feared this would happen ..."

I quickly stood up. The sound of the ewer crashing onto the stone floor had Tristan abruptly breaking free of Lancelot's embrace. When he saw Dagonet watching them in silent disbelief, he flushed guiltily then immediately paled as he became aware of the shock and anguish which ravaged his lover's face. Tristan started forward as if to approach him and Dagonet swiftly turned on his heel and began to stalk away.

In an attempt to prevent him from leaving, Tristan grabbed Dagonet's forearm. That turned out to be a huge mistake. The powerfully-built Roxolani suddenly lashed out.

I heard Galahad's sharp intake of breath and I winced as Dag's right fist connected squarely with the Scout's jaw. In all the years we'd known each other, Dagonet had _never_ been violent towards any of us. He'd never laid a finger on us ... except to heal. Amazingly, Tristan _still_ stood. How ? I shall never know, as that blow would have surely felled a rampaging bull. I'd have hated being on its receiving end. I watched Tristan slowly shake his head. He appeared slightly dazed and shocked as he wiped his bleeding lower lip with the back of his hand.

My feelings were absolutely divided. Both men were my closest friends.

I felt sorry for the Scout, but I was also bloody furious with him for being so stupid; yet my heart bled for Dagonet. He hadn't deserved any of this and if I could, I would've done anything to spare him such pain ...

Fearing one of them would be seriously injured, I cautiously approached the pair. Galahad, meanwhile, had stalked over to Lancelot and the last I saw was Arthur's inebriated, second-in-command being unceremoniously dragged out of the tavern by my fuming lover.

I heard Tristan plead with Dagonet and call him his "wolf," but the older man was suffering too much to want to listen. The shock gave way to ice-cold rage and to my dismay, our shy Healer began to withdraw into his shell before my very eyes. All the inner-confidence which he'd gained since they'd become lovers, instantly vanished and for a brief moment, my gentle, kind-hearted friend appeared horribly vulnerable and so alone.

Then, just as quickly, Dag's aloofness returned. His demeanour changed. Somehow, he managed to find an inner strength - one I always suspected he possessed - and with great resolve and dignity, I heard him calmly say, "It's over, Tristan. Deal with it -_ I _have to ... We're through ..."

He didn't spare Tristan another glance as he quietly walked away.

_**XXXXX**_

Tristan stood there, seemingly paralysed. He could only watch Dag leave as the impact of what he'd done sank in. For once, his face was easily read. Various conflicting emotions crossed it, ranging from sorrow, genuine regret to confusion. It was the first time I'd ever seen him appear so exposed ... so lost ...

I felt for him then, as the realization that he'd committed the biggest fuck-up of his life hit him. Yet, despite his torment, I despised him for what he'd done to Dagonet. Suddenly, he seemed to pull himself together and began to follow Dag and that was when I felt I had to intervene.

Over the years, I'd come to know the Roxolani well - he was the total opposite in nature to his volatile, gregarious, older cousin, Bors. I'd learnt early on, when we were mere youths, that when he was troubled or in pain, he _always_ sought solitude and shunned the company of others. It was his way of coping with things and after the immense blow he'd just suffered, I instinctively knew he'd want to be alone. That he would crave isolation ... That he'd need it desperately ...

The man had been cruelly betrayed and publicly humiliated by the person he loved the most. All he had left was his self-respect, his dignity and I was damned if he was going to lose that as well.

I found myself standing between Tristan and the path Dagonet had taken. He tried to slip around me and I shoved him back - roughly. He attempted to follow Dag once more and I pushed him back a second time, this time I left my hand resting on his chest. I could feel his heart beat agitatedly beneath my palm.

"I wouldn't, if I were you, Scout," I growled. "Leave Dag be ... He needs to be on his own right no- "

Tristan confronted me with a baleful glare, his lean, athletic frame tense and frustrated. We were of equal height, yet I have the edge on him when it comes to muscle power. I may not be as intimidating as Bors in my anger, but I can be very daunting when roused. Tristan, when enraged can be terrifying to behold. And when he's been drinking, he's even worse. If I'd been in my right mind, I'd have been more wary, but I was far too angry to think clearly.

He immediately went on the offensive, his hand instinctively gravitating to the hilt of the dagger at his waist. I chose to ignore that and challenged Tristan angrily. I really tore a strip off him. With every angry word I uttered, the fight drained out of him and his hand fell away to his side. Tris looked defeated, defenceless and he knew I spoke nothing but the truth.

It had been a long day and I was tired, yet I couldn't let the matter drop. I had to know why it had happened. I ran a weary hand through my tousled mane and quietly asked, "Just tell me why, Tris ?"

His unease made it clear that he hadn't a clue why he'd been so stupid and the last thing I ever took Tristan to be was a fool. He'd been drinking heavily, of that I had no doubt - he reeked of ale - but he was intelligent enough not to use it as an excuse and his remorse for hurting Dagonet was genuine. Tristan was consumed with self-loathing for what he'd done to a man who truly loved him.

In the end, he admitted that curiosity had played a large part in his actions and the price he was having to pay for it, cost him dearly. It had robbed him of the one thing he'd treasured the most and I found myself relenting.

Although I'd taken Dagonet's side, Tristan was still my brother - my friend - and I hated seeing them both so distraught. It was obvious Tristan_ was _in love with Dag. He cared for him deeply, still desired him and clearly wanted to make amends. He confessed as much to me. That he didn't want to lose Dagonet. That he would fight to win him back.

All I could do was warn him to tread carefully. "Well, if I were you, I'd sort this damn mess out _before_ Bors gets wind of it ..."

I knew if Dag's cousin got to hear of it, both Tristan and Lancelot - not that I cared much what would happen to that sneaky, arrogant sod - would be in serious trouble. Woe betide anyone stupid enough to hurt Bors' kin as that would surely incur his wrath and vengeance ... When it came to protecting his beloved family, the older Roxolani would willingly fight to the death.

I could now see a definite change in Tristan. Fiery intent burned once more in his striking golden eyes and his shoulders squared in steely determination.

I had to admire his nerve as he silently brushed past me and stated calmly, "I'm going to find Dag before he goes to ground and win him back. Damn it ! I'm going to prove to him how much he means to me and that I love him even if it fucking kills me ..."

As I watched him leave, I could only hope that he'd be successful, for both their sakes, yet I couldn't help fearing that he might be too late ...

**TBC ...**


	4. The Demon Drink and the loss of all hope

_**Disclaimer:**_ Again, see Chapter I.

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Part IV: **_**The Demon Drink and the loss of all hope and trust ...**_

_Tristan's pov__:_

Although I knew deep down in my heart that he wouldn't be there, the first place I went to look for Dagonet was his quarters. We'd been lovers since the beginning of spring and I'd become so attuned to his spirit that I could sense him ... feel him and oh, gods, I could almost smell him ... taste him ...

As soon as I opened the heavy oak door, I felt nothing. Only a cold emptiness. The distinct lack of a large, warm presence that never failed to comfort, reassure and embrace me with its intense passion and selfless love. And now that precious, vital essence was gone ... and I missed it greatly. The pain I felt at its loss was immense.

Slowly, I closed the door of the neat, spartan room and stalked briskly away. I went to all of his usual haunts. From the bath-house to the valetudinarium, to the sparring arena and the archery range. I failed to find him. Frustrated, I loped down from the ramparts and headed for the stables.

And promptly careered into the cause of all of my woes ... Lancelot.

He was the last person I wanted to see. To be with. After the trouble the bastard had caused, my intentions towards Arthur's right-hand man were murderous, to say the least.

The dark knight swaggered towards me, arrogant self-confidence seeping from every pore. It was impossible to deny that he was a handsome bugger. But unlike my Dag, his was just outer beauty. Superficial. It was transient, serving only to cloak and blind others to his true, shallow and self-absorbed nature. Despite the knowledge of what he was really like, the fact that I too, had been briefly mesmerized by him and allowed both curiosity and ale to blind my judgement infuriated me. The sight of him standing before me, either unaware or simply uncaring of the chaos he'd created, was like a red rag to a bull. It made my blood boil.

"Triss-tan ..." he slurred, reaching clumsily for me with his right arm, aiming to loop it around my neck and draw me closer to him. "I've been waiting for you. Your room or mine ?"

I immediately knocked his hand away as he attempted to roughly caress my cheek.

"Get out of my way, Lancelot. I've something far more important to do than waste my time with you," I spat before turning on my heel to leave. Full of himself, he laughed loudly and succeeded in annoying me even more.

"Who or what could possibly be more important than being with me, hmm ?" the Iazyges purred confidently. "Come on, there's no one, Scout and you know it ... " He placed a possessive hand on my shoulder. My reaction was swift. Instinctive. It also wiped the knowing smirk from his lean, attractive face.

"What in hell's name makes you think that I'd want to go anywhere with you ?" I asked mildly, glaring intently at him as I lightly pressed the tip of my hunting knife's blade against his groin. "_You're_ not my type, Lancelot. I'm _not_ interested in you - never have been ..."

"Liar ! Everyone's interested in m- "

My response ? Arching an eyebrow, I pressed the sharp blade once more against his black, leather-covered groin and smirked inwardly as he flinched and I heard him hiss in protest.

"Read my lips, you arrogant son of a bitch," I stated with an icy calm. "I. Am. Not. Interested. Not now. Not ever. Got it ? So, unless you want to distract me and cause my hand to ... slip ?" By the way his dark eyes widened in panic, there was no need for me to finish what I was about to say. Despite the vast quantity of ale he'd consumed, he quickly understood my meaning. I slowly withdrew my hand and sheathed the hunting knife back at my waist, never taking my eyes off him and felt a sudden, vindictive urge to hurt him. To cause him pain like he'd inflicted upon Dagonet.

"In answer to your question, Iazyges ... Who_ is _more important to me than you ? Dagonet. Dagonet ... "

I saw his eyes briefly dilate in disbelief, then narrow calculatingly. He began to laugh mockingly. "Dagonet ? Our Healer ? You mean you chose that dull, half-witted Roxolani over me ? You _are_ a foo- "

I finally snapped and lost what tenuous control I had on my temper. I lashed out and struck him with my fist. Hard. He could rant, rave and badmouth me as much as he liked, but I wouldn't tolerate him disrespecting or abusing my beloved Healer.

"A fool, am I ? I was a damn fool to break bread and sup with you this evening, you selfish, fucking bastard !" I snarled viciously. "I was a bloody idiot to trust you. To allow you - the garrison's whore - to kiss me ... And a greater fool to let you come between me and the one person who means more to me than life itself. Someone who genuinely loves and cares for me ... I was stupid enough to let that happen. I know I've lost Dagonet's trust and respect, thanks to you, but if I lose him as well ? I swear on all things sacred, Lancelot, I'll make_ your _life a living hell ... And believe me, I_ will _take great pleasure in doing so ..."

Not bothering to look at him again, I spat on the floor then headed swiftly for the stables, determined that I wouldn't be sidetracked by anyone again.

_**XXXXX**_

When I finally got to the stables, the first thing I noticed was that the stall next to Storm's was empty. My heart sank. For if Dagonet had disappeared with Flight, gods only knew where he would be.

"He left," Jols murmured quietly.

Startled, I raised my head and found our squire sitting on the bench within the doorway. He was working diligently, quietly mending a bridle and in my concern for Dagonet, I'd failed to see him.

"Huh ?"

Jols didn't bother to raise his head from his work. "Dagonet. Stormed in here earlier. Seemed very upset. Took Flight and left as if the hounds of hell were giving chase. Never seen him act like that befor- "

"Jols ! I need to find him. Where did he go ?"

He shrugged. His attention firmly fixed on the task at hand.

"Jols !" I almost howled in frustration. I was finding it hard to suppress the rising panic I felt.

"No idea," he replied quietly before eventually looking up to meet my worried gaze. "All I know is what he told me- "

"What, man ? Tell me, for mercy's sake ..." I snapped impatiently and ran an unsteady hand through my thick, tangled mane of hair.

Jols sighed heavily and placed the ornate bridle on his left knee, then rubbed his dark, scraggly bearded chin as he tried to recall what he'd been told. "I was told - if asked - that "under no circumstances tell the Scout that you've seen me." I've never heard Dagonet speak like that before. So cold ... so distant ... so unfeeling. I swear, it wasn't like him and ..." Jols paused uncertainly and his brow furrowed with anxiety.

"And what ?" I reached for Storm's saddle, carefully cinched the girth before adjusting the stirrup leathers and calmly led her out of the stall.

"He looked like death ... _Bloody death !_ Something's not right with him and it concerns me. He was so out of character ... " The dark-haired squire sighed deeply once more, then continued carefully, "Look, whatever's happened between the pair of you - whatever falling out you've had, I don't care - it's none of my business. But I do care about our Healer, Scout and that's why - may the gods forgive me - I'm going to break my word to him. The last I saw of Dagonet, after he slipped through the gates, he was heading west, up the hill, past the knights' cemetery- "

I swung nimbly into the saddle, faster than a fox breaking into a henhouse and silently nodded my thanks, before directing the grey mare out of the stable at a wild, reckless gallop.

Once I reached the brow of the hill, I reined Storm in and began to carefully survey the lay of the land. The terrain was flat as far as the eye could see and knowing Dag as well as I did, I felt deep in my gut that he would've instinctively bolted out of sight. As I studied the landscape, my gaze soon fell upon the nearest, suitable cover - a small, dense forest to my right. Despite the intense worry I felt, I knew that I was closing in on my quarry. With a faint smirk, I lightly dug my heels into Storm's sleek, dappled flanks and galloped towards the edge of the forest.

_**XXXXX**_

It felt like forever, but I eventually tracked him down.

The forest was deceptive. As I'd gazed down from my vantage point at the top of the hill, it appeared small, but once I'd entered its confines it seemed limitless. So far, fortune had been smiling upon Dagonet and he'd successfully eluded me. He was hellbent on remaining hidden and I was equally determined to find him. To flush him out and draw him back into the open. To talk and to hopefully, begin to sort out the hellish mess I'd unwittingly created whilst under the influence of the demon drink.

In my haste to find him, I might have missed the narrow, overgrown path to the clearing, if I hadn't heard Flight's soft whicker. That's when I stopped and took my time to search the area. It was then I found the path which was heavily obscured by the undergrowth. As I looked down, I spotted hoof and footprints on the densely moss-covered ground. Taking a deep breath, I dismounted, drew the dao from its sheath between my shoulder blades, then began to silently lead Storm up the path.

I entered the clearing to find the powerful, sable destrier pawing agitatedly at the ground. That, in itself, was unusual, as Flight was the calmest of the warhorses. As I searched the clearing, I eventually found Dagonet slumped against an old oak tree, seemingly fast asleep, with the skin of ale draped across his left thigh.

"Hey ! Wolf ?" There was no response as I called him by his nickname. "Dag ?"

The black stallion's restlessness began to give me cause for concern as did Dagonet's apathy. Narrowing my eyes, I cautiously approached the dozing Healer. That's when I discovered the cause of the huge beast's agitation. There was a distinct, metallic scent of fresh blood in the air ...

I knew then something was gravely wrong. Dagonet's motionless body slumped against the oak's trunk with his head at an awkward angle, his chin resting on his broad chest. Immediately, I dropped Storm's reins, grabbed a skin containing fresh water and ran towards him, dropping to my knees at his side.

His skin was cold, clammy and deathly pale and his breathing shallow. He reeked of blood and ale. The source of the ale was obvious ... and I soon discovered the origin of the blood. To my horror and dismay, his forearms were drenched in blood. The number of scarlet lines which marred him were far too great to count. The ones which had failed to break the skin, were tentative and left faint, pink lines. Those were too few and far between. The rest were deep and surer. Frighteningly so ... There was so much blood - far too much ...

Worry turned to intense fear.

I sat back on my heels and shrugged off my green, suede tunic and hastily tugged my white undershirt over my head and began to tear it into long strips. All the while, I kept talking to him. Insisting vehemently that he respond to me. My demands gradually turned to begging, revealing the depth of my fear and anxiety. Willing and coaxing him to reply, if only to yell and tell me to fuck off and leave him alone. Anything, even that, would be far better than this. But my desperate pleas fell on deaf ears.

After I'd painstakingly cleaned his wounds, I began to carefully bind them with the makeshift bandages created from my undershirt. Once that task was completed, I slipped the tunic back on and settled beside him. With a heavy heart, I sighed and carefully drew Dagonet into my arms. His head rested upon my right shoulder and I held him close.

He was the most precious thing in my sorry excuse of a life. Nothing ... no one else mattered. Only Dagonet ... I couldn't lose him. Not the one person who gave meaning to my existence, kept me sane and above all, loved me and made me truly happy.

I bit my lower lip and for the first time in over fourteen years, felt the sharp pricking of hot tears. I groaned in despair and tightened my embrace as I listened to his shallow breaths.

Dagonet's breath unexpectedly hitched and I froze. I couldn't help imagining that my worst fear was about to happen - that I_ was _going to lose him. For good. And I'd never get the chance to tell him I was sorry. Sorry for hurting him. For letting him down. For betraying him. For being so fucking stupid ... That all I ever wanted was to tell him I was in love with him. To show him that my love was genuine. That he could trust me once more. That I wanted and needed him more than anything in my life. That he was - Hell ! No ! That_ he _**is** my fucking life ...

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by something I never expected to hear again.

"Triss-stan ... you ... fucking ... bastard ..." Dagonet rasped faintly. He watched me accusingly through half-closed, silvery eyes which were dulled with pain. "Couldn't ... even ... leave me ... to die in ... bloody peace, could ... you ?"

I tried not to feel too optimistic as I studied his beloved, ashen face. "Since when have you ever known me to listen to what anyone says, Wolf ?" I replied with a weak grin. "I love you, Dag ..."

Dagonet coughed and attempted to move away. I instinctively tightened my hold around his waist in order to prevent him from doing so.

"You're a ... total bastard," he muttered weakly. "D'ya know that ? I, I loved you ... you were my world. I _still _do - you still are. But right now, I fucking hate you so much. I hate you for what you did to me, godsdamn it ... I don't think I'll ever be able to trust you agai- " He passed out before he could say any more, before I could respond.

As I cradled him in my arms, I could only think of three things.

Firstly, Dagonet had to pull through this. He just had to ... _If _he died, I'd soon follow him as I'd never be able to live with myself otherwise. Secondly, _if_ he survived, I'd gladly - willingly - spend the rest of my life trying to regain his trust and make it up to him. Thirdly and this was the least of my worries, no matter whether Dag lived or died, Bors was _definately _going to kill me ...

**Finis **


End file.
